


Made With Love

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Sandwiches, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Crowley loves his angel, and makes him a little packed lunch every day for work at the bookshop...Inspired by a meme posted in the "Ineffable Husbands" facebook group: "I make my husband a sandwich every day for work. Once, I jokingly kissed it to show him I made it "with love". But then for some reason it stuck, and that just became the habit. Make sandwich, give it a little smooch, put it into baggie. Except when I'm mad at him. Then that sandwich isn't made with love. It gets no kiss. Yeah, enjoy that sandwich, jerkface, I hope it tastes like despair."
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 319





	Made With Love

It had just made so much sense for them to move into Crowley’s flat afterwards. It was more spacious, had more mod-cons than the poky flat above the shop, and had ample room to add some big comfy sofas. Aziraphale had of course brought in a few bookshelves and home comforts. He still left every morning to walk the easy half mile stroll to the bookshop for the day.

One morning Crowley awoke before Aziraphale, and sipping hot coffee at the kitchen counter, it occurred to him that he could make a packed lunch for his angel. He opened the fridge and considered the supplies he’d ensured were always stocked there to tempt his beloved – the finest charcuterie selection from Fortnum & Mason, cheeses from Harrods food hall, fresh fruits, and in the bread bin, fresh crusty bread from the artisanal bakers down the street, and on the counter a pretty cardboard box of delicate pastries from the patisserie near the bookshop.  
  
He hummed happily and selected a demi baguette, grabbed some eggs, vinegar and oil, plus a smidgen of mustard and whisked up some fresh mayonnaise. He picked a few fine slices of prosciutto, shaved some hard Italian cheese, added some crisp salad leaves, heritage tomatoes and a smattering of crispy fried onion pieces for a crunchy texture. He added the reddest apple from the fruit bowl to a little Tupperware (after ten minutes fumbling in the cupboard trying to find the matching lid – some things are inevitable). Then squeezed some Sorrento oranges for juice and decanted it into a re-usable bottle.

Crowley smiled and contemplated the little spread happily. He lifted the sandwich to place on the tinfoil to wrap it, and impulsively gave it a little kiss before bundling it up and popping the whole lot in a little cool bag with an ice block from the freezer.

He re boiled the kettle and brewed some Earl Grey tea to wake his angel with, and put some bread in the toaster, laid out some creamery butter and strawberry jam, and when it was all ready, took it through on a little tray to the bedroom.

Just as Aziraphale was about to leave, Crowley handed him the cool bag.

“Just a little something for you, Angel” he smiled.

“Oh Crowley, thank you, how thoughtful dearest!” They shared a quick kiss then the angel bustled out.

Lunch time rolled around and Aziraphale flipped the “open” sign to “closed” and retreated to his desk, opening the cool bag and inspecting the contents. He lifted the tinfoil package out and felt a peculiar warmth suffuse his heart as he touched it. How sweet of his serpent to think of him like this. Aziraphale devoured the sandwich with relish, his heart positively glowing with each mouthful. It was the best sandwich he’d ever tasted. It felt like… _love_.

So it continued – every morning Crowley would make a packed lunch for his angel, and every lunchtime Aziraphale would feel a warm buzz of contentment as he sat and relaxed at his desk with whatever delectable delight had been provided for him that day.

Then the dog happened.

They’d been barrelling along a little back road just off the M4 near Windsor one evening when Aziraphale grabbed at Crowley’s arm suddenly and yelled at him to stop. Crowley slammed on the brakes and stared at the angel questioningly.

“Look – there’s a dog there!”

Crowley followed the pointing finger with his gaze, and sure enough, by the ditch at the side of the road in the darkness was a huge, very hairy, and very muddy dog, looking bewildered. Before he could stop him, the angel was rushing out of the car.

He approached the dog slowly, making soothing noises, beckoning. The dog looked scared, but the celestial being radiated such calmness and love that it submitted to being petted gently, as Aziraphale felt for a collar under the thick matted fur. Finding none, he turned to Crowley who had stalked up behind them.

“Crowley, pass me your tie.”

Crowley stared at him. “You what?”

“Your _tie_ , Crowley, I need a lead of some sort for her”

Crowley sighed and slid the long grey decoration from his neck, passing it over wearily to the angel, who looped it around the dog’s neck and began to lead her to the car.

“Oi, what d’you think you’re doing?” Crowley demanded.

  
“We’re taking her somewhere safe, dearest. We can’t leave her out here alone.”

  
“It’s FILTHY, look at all that mud!”

  
“It’s just dirt Crowley, mud washes off.”

  
The demon grumbled under his breath as the angel encouraged the enormous hairy beast into the back seat of his Bentley. The dog was delighted at the sight of the car and became more animated. She jumped up at Aziraphale and licked his face eagerly, tail wagging up a storm, splattering wet mud over everything in a wide arc, including Crowley, and including the fine leather interior and plush merino wool carpet.

Aziraphale climbed back into the passenger seat. “Right, turn around, Harefield isn’t far away, just up the M4 a bit.”

  
“What’s at Harefield?”

“Dogs Trust – a dog rescue charity, they can check her for a microchip, see if she has an owner, and take her in if needed.”

  
Crowley hissed under his breath. So much for that dinner date they’d had booked in Windsor. He pulled an aggressive 3 point turn in the narrow lane and gunned the accelerator back toward the motorway junction again.

The dog was ecstatic to be having a car ride, she reached between the front seats and licked happily at the angel and demon alike, smearing more mud over the interior. Crowley grimaced as the slobbery tongue slurped up his face and messed his hair. He growled at the angel, who was accepting the loving licks with a joyous expression on his face.

“Can’t you stop that thing? It's distracting”.

Aziraphale frowned at him “Oh don’t be silly my dear boy, she’s a delight.”

"She’s a _mess,_ ” grumbled the demon. At least cats cleaned themselves he thought to himself. God may have made dogs, but it was an open secret that Lucifer let cats free on the world as tiny demons of chaos, to knock stuff off tables. At least they were clean though.

Aziraphale emerged from the Dogs Trust reception and handed Crowley back his tie. He accepted it with bad grace, holding it at arm’s length with two fingers, seeing the wet dog fur and mud stuck in the mesh, grimacing. He’d been inspecting the damage on the back seat of the Bentley.

“It’s alright, she’s safe here” Aziraphale said. “They have a no-kill policy, she isn’t chipped but they’ll find her a home.”

Crowley grunted. “Look at the state of this, angel! It stinks!”

Aziraphale glanced at the back seat. Oh. It seemed that at some point the poor dog had vomited back there as well. Oh dear.

“I’m sorry dearest.” He snapped his fingers and miracled the car clean, but Crowley wasn’t mollified. It wasn’t the same. He was grumpy at missing their dinner reservation, at being slobbered on, and having his beloved Bentley subjected to a myriad of messes. Instead they drove home in silence, picking up a takeaway on the way.

The next morning, not having slept well, Crowley was still in a bad mood. On autopilot he prepared his coffee, squeezed the orange juice, and prepared a sandwich as usual. When it came to wrapping it he paused, considered for a moment, and placed it down in the tinfoil without the customary kiss. _This sandwich would get no love. It gets no kiss. Yeah, enjoy that sandwich, jerkface, I hope it tastes like despair_. He shoved it all in the cool bag and slumped on the sofa to scroll through his phone, not looking up as Aziraphale came through for breakfast.

“Are you still cross at me, Crowley?”

  
“mmph.”

  
“I see. Well perhaps you’ll feel better later, shall we dine at the Connaught this evening perhaps? My treat this time?”

  
Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug. Aziraphale sighed, finished his toast, picked up the cool bag and set off for work.

Crowley shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He couldn’t concentrate properly. The angel was right. They couldn’t have left the dog. He’d miracled the car clean, and Crowley’s clothes, there _wasn’t_ any lasting damage, all they’d done is miss a dinner date. They had plenty of time for more dinner dates. Besides, the Connaught hotel restaurant was especially good, probably better than the Windsor one would have been. He sighed.

As the morning ground on, Crowley became more and more restless. He hadn’t made that sandwich with love. The angel could _feel_ love. Would he be able to tell? Oh Satan, what had he done? Oh no. No. He had to stop it. He glanced at his watch, quarter to twelve. Aziraphale would be closing the shop for lunch shortly. He leapt up and started grabbing ingredients frantically, assembling a fresh sandwich.

He added all the finest ingredients he knew his angel loved, and when he had done, gave the baguette a flurry of apologetic kisses, wrapped it up, and ran out of the door. Car or run? Car or run? The time to get in the car, start it, and park it again at the other end probably meant it’d be just as fast to damn well run. He ran, it was only a 12 minute amble at the best of times. He put his head down and sprinted down the street, baguette firmly in hand.

Aziraphale flipped the sign to “closed” and sat at his desk, he sighed and unwrapped his sandwich. He put it to his mouth and took a bite just as the bell above the shop door jangled. He turned to see Crowley in the doorway, gasping for breath, Aziraphale’s mouth full of sandwich. (The shop was never locked to Crowley, it would open for him regardless of the state of the lock).

“STOP!” Crowley gasped. Aziraphale hastily chewed so he could clear his mouth to talk. The sandwich tasted _awful_. He pulled a face and swallowed. The demon’s face fell. “Don’t eat that one” he gasped sadly, his face full of remorse.

“Crowley, what? Why? What did you make it with?”

  
Crowley looked uncomfortable.

  
“Despair. Sorry, Angel. Here, have this one instead.” He handed over the new package.

  
“And what is this one made with?”

  
“Love.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. Of course, it made sense now. He could feel love. And each sandwich that had been made with love had been an utter delight, Crowley had made them for him each day and poured his affection into them. No wonder they tasted so good. He unwrapped the fresh sandwich and took a bite. His heart glowed. “Oh, Crowley…” He beamed at his demon.

  
“Sorry, angel.”

  
“Oh you silly serpent” Aziraphale smiled warmly, and stood to give him a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Some versions had it as Aziraphale making sandwiches for Crowley, but I felt it better this way around, as Crowley doesn't eat often, and Aziraphale can feel love. 
> 
> Also, I used to volunteer for the Dogs Trust, they do great work.


End file.
